My sight will never more be blest,For all I see has lost its zest;Nor with delight can I exploreThe classic page – the muse's lore.

Had she but known how beat my heartAnd with one smile reliev'd its smart,I should have felt a sweet relief,I should have felt ‹the joy of grief›!Yet as a Tuscan 'mid the snowOf Lapland thinks on sweet Arno;So for ever shall she beThe halo of my memory.